Tear in My Heart
by creativeminds1896
Summary: "Sometimes you've gotta bleed to know that you're alive and have a soul. But it takes someone to come around to show you how..." Maddie St. James's new team, the Beacon Hills Bullets, is the most prestigious women's hockey team in the country. But it's all the way in Beacon Hills, California - a long way from her home in Minnesota. But she can't focus on hockey anymore. Stiles/OC
1. Some Body (Pilot, pt 1)

Chapter 1: Some Body (Pilot, pt. 1)

 _Oh, my life is changing every day_

 _In every possible way_

 _And oh, my dreams,_

 _It's never quite as it seems_

 _Never quite as it seems_

Dreams – the Cranberries

She drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down.

I'm kidding.

I am not Bella from Twilight. This is not Twilight, nor do I support the inept superficiality of its characters and awful penmanship that is the entirety of the Stephanie Meyer series. I am not from Arkansas or Arizona or wherever Bella was from. I am not going to fall in love with a sparkly, immortal vampire with a crooked smile and I am NOT going to eventually try to kill myself over and over just to hear that stupid vampire's voice, get married to him even though we're both still teenagers, and eventually get turned into a vampire because my demonic child (who was put in me by my stalker vampire husband, by the way) is trying to eat its way out from inside of my body.

By the way, spoiler alert.

No, no, no. My story starts simply with a hockey stick; a hockey stick aimed at my cousin's best friend's face, to be exact. And I was in pajamas. And it was the night before school. And it was dark. And everyone was screaming.

"You heard it, too?" whispered Scott as we joined forces in the foyer. He held a baseball bat while I brandished a hockey stick.

"No, I thought I'd get in a late night practice before my first day on the Bullets," I replied sarcastically. "Because I most definitely have the keys to the local ice rink just stashed in my bra for safekeeping. Of course because I heard something!"

Scott rolled his eyes and trudged over to the front door. "Then come on."

We cautiously stepped on the wraparound porch. My feet were instantly chilled by the cold wood beneath my toes and the somewhat brisk night air.

Another cracking noise echoed from the right side of the house. I held my stick a little higher as if it was a baseball bat, the blade (the curved end that hits the puck) up over my shoulder.

My shoulders were covered in goosebumps. This was pretty creepy.

As Scott and I rounded the corner, we lowered our weapons slightly. There was nothing there.

Suddenly, a body swung down off the porch roof, head dangling dangerously far from the ground.

I yelled in shock and held up my stick to swing at the person, assuming it was an intruder.

Both Scott and the other person shrieked. His hand shot out like lightning in front of me, stopping my hockey stick, then dropped his bat. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing?!"

"You weren't answering your phone!" said the boy.

I groaned in annoyance, but kept the blade of my stick held up. I recognized the name.

"Why do you have a bat?" he questioned. "And why is there a girl with a hockey stick standing on your front porch?"

I scoffed, then let my stick hit the porch with a resounding smack. "Hey! I –,"

"Stiles, that's not the point. We thought you were a predator!"

Okay, maybe it wasn't as simple as I remember, but it definitely didn't involve people smelling my blood, jumping off cliffs, or being impregnated by a guy who sparkles in the sunlight.

I do know, however, that everything that would eventually take place during my next three years of high school was significantly more meaningful, as well as made more sense, than Twilight ever was or ever will be – and we haven't even gotten to the part about werewolves yet.

My mom actually did drive me to the airport herself, but the windows were rolled up. I'm from Minnesota, and I'm not accustomed to leaving the windows down in my car, even during the summer. That's what air conditioning is for. Duh.

I had been scouted by one of the best premiere teen women's hockey teams in the country. But it wasn't in Minnesota; it was across the United States in a small town called Beacon Hills, California. Mom had made a few calls and found out that her sister-in-law, Melissa McCall, still lived there with her son, Scott.

I remembered Scott from family events as a kid. He was a shy boy, somewhat awkward, but very sweet. He did his best to keep up with me and our other cousins, but his asthma always slowed him down. Our self-refereed footraces often ended up with me winning by a landslide and him being left in all of our kicked-up dust, sputtering and wheezing.

But after his dad left, mom's brother and my uncle, we barely spoke to the McCall family. We'd get Christmas cards from them every year, but other than that, there was no face-to-face interaction between us. I soon became very focused on my hockey, and barely had time for much else.

Mom and dad were never around much, but when they were, all they ever wanted to talk about was hockey. Whether that be criticizing my skating techniques or encouraging me to keep on with the sport, it seemed their list of how I displeased them was endless, despite their enthusiastic nature for paying to keep me in the sport.

I tried to listen to their advice at first, but I quickly learned that I had to be there for myself. I had to take care of myself in the mornings before school. I had to make my own lunch and dinner. I had to make sure my homework was done and that everything was packed up and ready for the next day. I had to cheer myself on at games, unless they came and hollered at me and my team to 'get better at it' from the stands.

But I loved hockey. Nothing they said dampened my love for the feeling of cutting across freshly smoothed ice on my razor-sharp skates.

The Beacon Hills Bullets had won Young Women's Nationals three years in a row, and I had been recruited to be on the squad to win the championship again for the fourth year in a row. Each year, girls had to re-audition to stay on the team. As it happened, I sent in a video compilation of my best shots in games, my techniques at practice, and my ability to play almost any position on a team. But my main positions were center forward and right wing forward.

When my mom did drop me, and the final rest of my baggage, off at the Minneapolis airport that August morning, I breathed a sigh of relief. I barely knew Aunt Melissa or Scott, but I knew that they couldn't possibly be more cold-shouldered and heartless than my own mother.

"Have a good flight, Madison," she told me.

 _It's Maddie,_ I corrected miserably in my head.But I didn't care to remind her of my preferred nickname. I was soon to be out of her clutches.

"Thanks, mom," I replied, forcing a smile to form on my lips.

Mom gave me a strained grin. She stepped forward and gave me the quickest, light-as-a-feather hug I've ever received in my entire life. I didn't even try to hug her back. I despised physical affection, especially from my mom. She didn't mean what she said or did to me.

"You work hard on the Bullets, okay? Your father and I are paying a lot of money to ship all of your stuff over there. We're not going to pay to get it sent back if you're kicked off the team," she told me firmly, pulling up the handle on my large suitcase.

I nodded. "I will."

Another strained grin from mom. "Excellent. Say hello to Melissa and Scott for me. Call if you need money for anything."

And with that, my own mother quickly turned and left me standing in line for flight check-in in the Minneapolis airport. Alone. At four thirty in the morning. I had never been so happy to be in an airport in my entire life. I was finally out from under my parents large, dark umbrella and out of the endless cycle of sleep, eat, hockey, eat, sleep, repeat!

But that was nothing compared to the feeling when I stepped off the plane in San Francisco. A certain warmth overtook me, and not because it was over eighty degrees there. I was happy to be in a state my parents were not. I was halfway across the country where I would be actually taken care of by a real adult. An adult whose job wasn't to stand in the house and order our maid around; an adult whose job didn't involve yelling at his employees to get the 3D printer ready for his next architectural masterpiece in a large, sleek office with six espresso machines and a bunch of uptight, college interns overly worried about putting too much caramel in someone's three shot, soy caramel macchiato with extra milk foam and butterscotch drizzle to realistically focus on the real, innovative designing happening there.

Striding through the San Francisco airport was almost liberating, actually. The sun was high in the sky, the smell of fried foods wafted out of every greasy restaurant along the way, and the promise of a new, calm, suburban lifestyle was exactly what I was looking forward to.

As I passed through the gateway of the airport security, I finally glimpsed the figures of my aunt and cousin. Scott wasn't exactly jumping for joy at the sight of me, but his mother had a huge smile on her face. She ran forward and pulled me into a hug. I was taller than she was by only an inch or two.

"It's so good to see you, Madison!" she squealed.

I was extremely uncomfortable with the hug, but I ended up embracing her back anyways. It wasn't every day you reconnected with a family member after seven years of not seeing each other.

"Hi, Aunt Mel," I greeted cheerfully.

"I'm so glad you're here," she replied warmly, releasing me from her vice-like grip. She turned to her son. "Scott, at least say hi to your cousin!"

Scott's mouth upturned slightly. "Hey, Maddie. Long time no see."

"Hey. You got tall, kid," I said, reaching up and mussing his hair. His smile grew. He had always been smaller than me, and now, even though I was only a couple inches shorter, I was happy to see him finally getting bigger than me.

"Well, let's go get your suitcases. Most of your boxes have already arrived, including your hockey gear," Aunt Melissa told me, pulling Scott and I along towards the baggage claim carousels.

"Nothing was damaged, right?" I inquired rapidly.

"It's all there, trust me," she exasperated. "I didn't know hockey required so much…stuff."

"Tell me about it," I said sarcastically.

"Wait, you're coming here to play hockey?" Scott wondered.

I merely raised by eyebrows in surprise while his mom lectured him.

"Scott, I _told_ you she was coming here to play for the Beacon Hills Bullets. Honestly, do you listen to me at all?"

"Geez, I'm sorry!" Scott apologized defensively. "Stiles must have been over or something."

"Stiles is _always_ over," Aunt Mel said pointedly.

My eyebrows scrunched. "Who's Stiles?"

"Scott's best friend," explained Aunt Mel. "You'll be seeing a lot of him these next few years."

"He's pretty cool. You guys will probably get along. He's the most sarcastic person I've ever met," Scott relayed.

I smirked and shot some sarcasm his way. "Are you sure? Are you sure there's nobody else more sarcastic than him? Because I can't seem to think of anyone. Maybe they're walking with you right now. Maybe they've got wild blonde hair and are related to you? Maybe?"

Scott chuckled. "Okay, maybe you're as equally sarcastic."

It took us three hours to reach Beacon Hills by car.

As we approached the tiny town, Aunt Mel turned to me and said, "I think you'll enjoy it here. There are some really nice kids that go to high school with Scott. You'll make friends fast."

Little did Melissa McCall know, I was not the type of person to make friends fast. I had a hard time trusting people. The only reason Scott and I were even friendly was because we had been playmates as children. But I wasn't exactly a child anymore, and neither was he. Sure, we were sixteen, which is still in the middle of the teenage years, but I had to learn from a young age that I had to depend on myself to get things done. Adults, most of the time, were people who hadn't learned that. I already had.

I smiled back politely at my aunt from the passenger seat. I caught a glimpse of Scott's face in the rearview mirror. He wasn't convinced by my _apparent physical charm_. (That was sarcasm, by the way.) He was smart. Aunt Mel wasn't exactly stupid, either. She was a nurse, for crying out loud. She would figure out who I truly was at some point in time.

Even setting up my room in the McCall household was a little strained for me. I had a very specific style in mind for decoration, but Aunt Mel had her own ideas.

"So…you definitely like hockey," she said, voice tight as I unrolled my favorite hockey team's poster.

"Live and breathe it, Aunt Melissa," I told her honestly, a slightly smug expression on my face as I taped the poster to the cream-colored wall.

"Are you sure you don't want any…pictures of you and your friends, or – or maybe paint the walls a nicer color? You're going to be here for a while, so you're welcome to do whatever you want in here," she suggested kindly.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "I'm allowed to paint the walls?"

"Any colors you want," my aunt replied.

"How about green and red?" I said hopefully.

"Green and red? Like…Christmas colors?"

"No, the colors of my favorite hockey team – Minnesota Wild."

"Um…if that's what you really want."

My laugh was strained. I lied, "No, I'm joking! They're my favorite hockey team, but I'm not that crazy. The colors aren't exactly the most aesthetically pleasing, are they?"

Aunt Melissa chuckled uncomfortably once she realized that I was apparently messing with her. She still sounded unconvinced when she spoke. "Oh, funny. You got me."

I shook off the awkward interaction and lifted a box off the floor. I began to hang my clothing in the large closet across from my bed.

"Do you need any help?" she wondered.

I shook my head. I really just wanted to be alone. I was alone most of the time, but I didn't mind it. "No, that's okay. Thanks, though."

Aunt Mel seemed worried. She nodded. "Alright. By the way, I'm working the night shift at the hospital, so I won't be awake to see you off in the morning for school, but I'll cook dinner for the three of us before I leave. Does that sound okay?"

"Sounds fine to me," I shrugged. I was used to family dinners, but I didn't enjoy them. Mom and dad always would lecture me about my grades in school and about how I was doing in hockey. I absolutely despise school, but I do try my best. I'm not stupid, I just…I hate homework.

And if family dinners here at the McCall's house was anything like back home, I knew I was done for.

I spent most of the afternoon in my room, just getting it set up the way I wanted. Mom and dad had sent over my comfy queen-sized mattress. Mom had secretly sent over more 'girly' sheets for me, as she called them. Pink is not my color and it never will be. And butterflies? No thank you, ma'am. I'd rather stick with my one-of-a-kind Minnesota Wild bedding set I had gotten for Christmas when I was in fifth grade.

My history book collection was extensive, and finding room for them all on the tiny bookshelf my mom had sent over for me was not an easy task. And so was finding drawer room for all my nail polishes. I hadn't realized how many colors I had until I packed them back in Minnesota. I changed the color every Sunday night. It was like a fresh start to a new week. I had waited to do so, however, until that Tuesday I left Minnesota.

I tried wait to paint my nails until after the 'family dinner' Aunt Mel had planned, but I didn't want to wait any longer. I had been feeling so much better since arriving in California that I decided to use white polish.

My nails were still drying by the time she called Scott and I down to eat.

I waved my hands around as I slumped down the stairs. Family dinners were not something to be excited about.

I entered the dining room, blowing air over my nails to dry them. Aunt Melissa was setting out a giant bowl of spaghetti in the middle of the small, round table. I had to admit – it smelled amazing.

"That looks really good, Aunt Mel," I complimented. My stomach grumbled for emphasis.

She chuckled. "Just wait until you see the garlic bread!"

I smiled a genuine smile back at my aunt before she went back to the kitchen. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I thought it would.

Just then, Scott walked in, his hands in his pockets. "Ah, spaghetti – the only thing mom can make without burning the house down."

I laughed. "Hey, it's better than Thanksgiving 2002, right?"

Scott laughed at our shared memory. "Yeah, that was pretty bad."

"I didn't know potatoes could even turn that color."

"I don't think she did, either."

"You two aren't talking about the potato incident, are you?" Aunt Mel demanded playfully as she carried in slices of garlic bread on a wooden cutting board.

"Nope, not at all," I replied sarcastically.

"Yeah, okay, you caught us," Scott held up his hands in defense.

His mother sighed dramatically. "Oh, you guys were like two peas in a pod when you were kids. You wouldn't let me live that Thanksgiving down for five years."

"We still won't, mom," he chuckled.

She gave him an amused, but menacing, look. "Sit down, Scott."

My cousin held up his hands once more as he did what he was told. I followed suit, still waving my hands slightly.

Aunt Melissa insisted on serving me my food. It wasn't because of my almost-dry nails, but because she said that I was their 'guest.' I told her that because I was a permanent member of her house, I'd be helping myself next time, just like Scott. She laughed and nodded, as if she didn't believe me.

The rest of dinner was much more pleasant than I ever thought. Dinners with my own parents were usually strained and awkward. Aunt Mel and Scott were not my parents. They were the exact opposite, actually. Aunt Mel was engaged and asked a lot of questions (too many for my personal liking). Scott contributed to the conversation when he felt he could add to it. He didn't try to bring any attention to himself, which I quickly recognized and connected with. Mom would have been silent throughout the meal unless speaking with my father about his business deals or asking me how my grades were. She only cared about statistics. Dad was more engaged, but he still didn't contribute much to the conversation except to lecture me about trying harder in school and fouling more people during hockey games. Melissa and Scott did neither.

Before Aunt Mel left for her shift at the hospital, she sat me down on one of the cushy couches in the living room. Her expression was one of a concerned parent. I was not familiar with the look, and it caught me completely off guard.

"Maddie," she started, "Joanne let me take a look at your transcripts when she flew over to sign you up for school."

I immediately sunk down lower in my cushion, brain already fazing her out. I felt shame without even hearing a word of what Aunt Mel was going to say. She didn't notice my obvious discomfort. Then again – I had made a few things very obvious, but she hadn't recognized any of that yet.

"I just want you to know that I am so proud of all you've accomplished so far."

I instantly snapped out of my funk.

"Uh…I'm sorry?" I stammered.

"I said I'm proud of you, Maddie," she repeated.

Confusion washed through me and my blunt nature shone through. "Why?"

Aunt Mel smiled. "You have done so well putting up with your parents. I know that I shouldn't – that I shouldn't be so, um… _honest_ with you because, after all, they are your family, but –,"

"They are _not_ family," I countered immediately. I wanted to be transparent with my aunt. She deserved it. "They are people that just happened to create me. I don't consider them family."

Aunt Melissa's eyebrows shot up. "Well, you put up with a lot of crap as a kid. And, given your mother's lack of encouragement, I'm really glad that you're here with me and Scott. I told Scott – I even told Rafael when we were together – that your parents were never parents to you. They were never kind or compassionate towards you, at least when you were little."

I shook my head and said quickly, "They still don't, Aunt Mel. My mom dropped me off at the airport and told me to call her if I needed any money, then she left me alone. She was on her phone the whole time."

My aunt waved off the comment, disgusted, as if she didn't want to hear more.

"Anyways," she carried on, a lighter tone to her voice, "I just want to let you know that, despite your own parents telling you that you'd never be smart enough for college, I am very proud of what you've accomplished."

I smiled very slightly, but still wasn't convinced. "I get mostly C's."

"So?" Aunt Mel argued. "Maddie, you're an incredible hockey player who sacrifices a lot for her passion. School does not measure how smart you are. Intelligence does not equal your GPA. You're sharp, kid. Really sharp. I wish Scott had picked up on some of that when he was younger."

I let out a genuine laugh. Poor Scott.

Aunt Melissa leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't tell him I said that."

"I won't," I grinned.

"Seriously, Maddie, I think your grades might even improve here in Beacon Hills. You won't have your parents breathing down your neck every second and I promise that I will be there at every game to support you."

Hearing Aunt Melissa actually caring for me made me want to cry, but I held it together.

This time, it was me that leaned in for a hug.

"Welcome home, Maddie."

Later that night, I was getting ready for bed in my new bathroom. I had changed into a dark red Minnesota Wild tank top and black sweatpants I used for after-hockey comfort and as pajamas. Toothpaste foamed from the sides of my mouth as I scrubbed my teeth clean.

Aunt Mel had already said her goodbyes and wishes for a good first school day. Scott and I had waved at each other from down the hall. I was officially ready to crash and watch a few best hockey plays of the twenty-first century videos on YouTube.

That's when it happened. The creaking. The cracking. Squeals and squeaks only a human could make. A thump or two.

I knew Beacon Hills was a small town, but Scott or Aunt Mel could have at least warned me about a vagrant intruder on the loose.

I spit in the sink, grabbed my nearest hockey stick, and quietly opened my door. I glanced around the hallway rapidly, my wavy white-blonde hair whipping me in the face. The lights were all out. Aunt Mel had turned them all off in assumption that no one would go back downstairs.

 _Well, you were wrong, Aunt Mel,_ I thought, outwardly sighing. _And now I get to beat the crap out of, most likely, some idiotic freshman from my new high school that's looking for some extra cash._

I crept slowly down the stairs, hoping that they wouldn't creak.

As I rounded the corner, I saw a pair of soft, begging-puppy brown eyes. I took a good swing, nearly taking off the teen's head. Then, I realized it was Scott.

Thankfully, he had stumbled back and fallen on his butt in the foyer. A baseball bat lay near his feet. I winced and lowered my stick.

"Sorry," I whispered, holding out a hand to my cousin. He sighed and accepted. I easily tugged him to his feet. His eyes went wide as he bent down to pick up his bat.

"Whoa," he awed, staring at my biceps. "Do you lift?"

"Uh…yeah. Like 270."

Scott's jaw dropped. "I can barely lift 220!"

"When you're a hockey player, you have to keep everything strong," I told him quietly. "That baseball bat could shatter three layers of window shield glass in my hands."

There was another thump on the side of the house.

"You heard it, too?" whispered Scott. He brandished his baseball bat and slung it over his shoulder.

"No, I thought I'd get in a late night practice before my first day on the Bullets," I replied sarcastically. "Because I most definitely have the keys to the local ice rink just stashed in my bra for safekeeping. Of course, because I heard something!"

Scott rolled his eyes and trudged over to the front door. "Then come on."

We cautiously stepped on the wraparound porch. My feet were instantly chilled by the cold wood beneath my toes and the somewhat brisk night air.

Another cracking noise echoed from the right side of the house. I held my stick a little higher as if it was a baseball bat, the blade (the curved end that hits the puck) up over my shoulder.

My shoulders were covered in goosebumps. This was pretty creepy.

As Scott and I rounded the corner, we lowered our weapons slightly. There was nothing there.

"What the heck?" I hissed, annoyed.

Suddenly, a body swung down off the porch roof, head dangling dangerously far from the ground.

I yelled in shock and held up my stick to swing at the person, assuming it was an intruder.

Both Scott and the other person shrieked. His hand shot out like lightning in front of me, stopping my hockey stick, then dropped his bat. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing?!"

"You weren't answering your phone!" said the boy.

I groaned in annoyance, but kept the blade of my stick held up. I recognized the name.

"Why do you have a bat?" he questioned. "And why is there a girl with a hockey stick standing on your front porch?"

I scoffed, then let my stick hit the porch with a resounding smack. "Hey! I –,"

"Stiles, that's not the point. We thought you were a predator!"

Stiles sputtered and coughed. "A preda – I – what? – I know it's late, but you gotta hear this."

"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" I demanded.

The two boys glanced at each other, back at me, and then at each other.

Scott started to introduce us. "Stiles, this is – "

"Yeah, hi, I'm Stiles, nice to meet you, glad you're here with Scott, are you single, what's your favorite color, whatever," he rambled. "But anyways, my dad left about – "

I felt offended. I held up a polished, white nailed hand. My tone was short and clipped. "Hold on. Stop talking. This random guy pops down off my cousin's roof and refuses to even know my name? I don't think so! I am _not_ starting off this new school year with someone completely dissing me. Let's start over, okay? My name is Maddie. Scott is my cousin. I came here to play hockey, as you can see from this hockey stick. If you can't see it from over there, then here, let me bring it closer."

I swung my hockey stick so that it was about an inch away from Stiles' nose. His eyes went as big as dinner plates. His hands dangled by his ears helplessly.

Scott reached out and quickly grabbed the blade. "Maddie, he gets overexcited. I promise, he's not some inconsiderate jerk. He's my best friend."

I cocked one annoyed eyebrow at the two and slowly lowered my stick.

Stiles nodded his head vigorously, his whole body shaking with the movement. He spoke at a rapid pace. "Please, don't knock my head off with your hockey stick. I promise you, human heads are not as fun to smack around as pucks."

"I don't know about that," I joked dryly. "I was just hitting one around the old frozen pond the other day."

Stiles giggled like a mad man while Scott just smirked lightly.

"Stiles, meet Maddie," he announced. "She plays hockey."

"Really?" the two of us chimed in sarcastic unison.

We shared a surprised look, then Stiles went right back to crazed, twitchy mode. "As I was saying, my dad left about twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon department and even state police."

"For what?" questioned Scott.

"Two joggers found a body in the woods," Stiles replied giddily.

My mouth fell open as Stiles jumped down from the roof. I trod up to the railing as Scott leaned over it. Stiles stared up at us, his moles dotting his face as dark spots in the faint moonlight.

"A dead body?" Scott replied in shock.

"No, a body of water," Stiles shot back, "yes, dumbass, a dead body."

I snorted at his response. "Let me guess – nothing exciting ever happens in this town."

Stiles hopped up and over the onto the porch to stand in front of us. "Nothing like this. There hasn't been an unidentifiable dead body found in Beacon Hills in over twenty years. Two people running and – BAM – dead body right there!"

"Wait, you mean like…murdered?" Scott asked breathlessly.

"Nobody knows yet," Stiles answered, slightly more serious. "Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties."

"Hold on, if they found the body, what are they looking for?" Scott wondered skeptically.

Stiles spazzed out for a second. With the rate this guy moved, I was bound to get whiplash sometime. It almost happened right there.

"If they've got nothing left to find, why keep searching?" I suggested.

Stiles was dizzy with glee. "That's the best part! They only found half."

I felt like my mouth was going to catch flies. "Half a body? Who the hell would cut a person in freaking half?"

Stiles smirked over at Scott. "We're going."

Scott's lips slowly upturned into a grin. "You really want to?"

"Uh, yeah, excuse me. We are definitely going," Stiles argued. He turned to me. "And you're coming with us."

Scott and I immediately rejected the idea.

"No way," my cousin cried.

"Hell no! It's the night before the first day of school!" I protested. "I have not only got to suffer through the first day as the 'new girl,' but I've also got my very first Bullets practice tomorrow. I've got to get a lot of rest."

Stiles' head flew back, as if he had gotten punched in the face. His honey brown eyes went huge. "You're the new forward for the Beacon Hills Bullets?"

I frowned slightly. "You know about the Bullets?"

Stiles' hands flew up in the air, as if he was insulted that I hadn't known about his own joy for the team.

"Do I know about the Bullets? What century do you think this is, _Madison?_ We are not living in Medieval France. Of course, I know the Bullets! My dad and I are some of the team's biggest fans!" Stiles freaked. "I talked to the coach and she said she was bringing in some phenomenal sophomore from the Midwest, but I didn't know it was _you!"_

I chuckled slightly. "Well…thank you, I think? Nice to know that I'll have at least two more people cheering us on."

Stiles' hand came up and smacked Scott hard on the arm. "You didn't tell me that your cousin played for the Bullets? Son of a bitch!"

"Hey! Sorry, it just never came up, that's all," Scott defended, rubbing his upper arm.

"Speaking of which, dead body hunting time!" Stiles cheered. "Are you guys coming or not?"

Scott and I turned to look at each other. His face was hopeful. Mine was the complete opposite.

I sighed. "Scott, it's the night before the first day of school. You're trying out for the lacrosse team tomorrow and I've got my first practice with the Bullets. We should both be upstairs asleep."

"Maddie, it's _half a dead body!"_ Scott pleaded.

"Come on, Maddie! It's gonna be so cool! I promise, half of a dead body sounds gross, but it's actually awesome," Stiles added.

I stood my ground and shook my head. I valued sleep too much to miss it for something Scott and his wacky friend would never find, especially if it was something like half a human carcass.

"I will pass on the blood and gore for tonight," I told them firmly. "But the next time there's a dead body lost in the vast city of Beacon Hills, I will go looking for it with you. Like that's ever going to happen again…"

"Dude, go get your shoes!" Stiles urged at Scott.

My cousin instantly sprung alive and ran back inside. I was left standing there with Stiles. He twitched anxiously, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

"So…are you single?" he asked nervously. The tone of his voice made it sound like a joke at first. Several awkward seconds passed.

I laughed, then held my stick out like I would if I was playing hockey right there on the porch. "Ask me that one more time," I warned, amused.

Stiles leapt out of my way as I walked past him.

"Oh, sure, sorry, yeah, see you tomorrow," he rushed.

"Have fun, body snatcher," I called back over my shoulder as I entered the house.

As I approached the stairs, Scott appeared at the top, flying down each step. When he reached the bottom, he pulled his hood up over his mess of wavy, brown hair.

Scott and I did not look related in any way, shape, or form unless you looked at our hair. Although completely different colors, the texture was the same. Because of my hair's length, it curled more at the ends, but the rest was thick and wavy.

I ran a hand through my own locks. Worry settled in the pit of my stomach.

"Just be careful out there, okay? Who knows what happened to the other half of that poor girl's body. Could be a wild animal, a cannibal –,"

Scott merely scoffed. "Maddie, there aren't any cannibals in Beacon Hills!"

"You don't know that," I deadpanned. "Cannibals look just like everybody else. It's the same with serial killers, which is another option in this situation."

"I promise, we'll be okay. Stiles and I have staked out crime scenes hundreds of times. We've never gotten hurt before. I'll be home in an hour," Scott reassured me gently.

"Come on, Scott! The night won't stay young forever!" Stiles' voice was muffled through the walls of the house.

I sighed and stared directly into my cousin's eyes. I pointed a finger at his chest. "Whatever you do, keep your friend out of the cannibal's way. He's too eager and is going to end up getting himself sliced in half if he's not careful."

Scott smiled widely and saluted. "See you later! Don't wait up!"

And with that, he was gone. I watched out the window as the car lights turned and faded out of sight as Stiles drove down the road.

I shook my head and clutched up on my stick's handle.

"They're crazy," I muttered to myself as I climbed the stairs. "Hey, Scott, let's go find half a dead body with its psychotic, criminally demonic cannibal on the loose. Why not, Stiles? Great idea! It's not a school night at all. We definitely don't have lacrosse tryouts tomorrow where I'll completely humiliate myself because I'm dead tired and not athletic!"

I went into my room, shut the door, and set the hockey stick on a leaning rack with the others. Then, I crawled right into bed. I snuggled down deep into my familiar comforter, then pulled my phone out of my sweats pocket. I checked to see if someone from back in Minnesota had texted me, but the screen was blank. Nothing. Why would I expect anything else?

I set my phone on my nightstand, clicked off my lamp, and promptly fell asleep.

But sleep was not peaceful for me that night. Nightmares plagued me. Nightmares of death. And in the morning, I remembered nothing.

 **And there ends the first chapter of** Tear in My Heart **! I really hope you enjoyed Maddie's character. If you'd like to read more of Maddie's addition to the story of Teen Wolf, please follow and review! I'd really appreciate some feedback on whether or not to continue the story. :)**


	2. New Girl Olympics (Pilot, pt 2)

Chapter 2: New Girl Olympics (Pilot, pt. 2)

* * *

 _She sees them walking in a straight line,_

 _That's not really her style_

 _And they all got the same heartbeat_

 _But hers is falling behind_

Cool Kids – Echosmith

* * *

I woke in a cold, panicked sweat. My head ached for just a few seconds, then, it was back to normal. No pain, no pounding, nothing. I was suddenly fine.

The song on my phone was just loud enough to be annoying, so I reached over and pressed the 'stop' button on the screen.

I slowly sat up and rubbed my eyes, dread seeping through my veins; stretching all over my body from my head to my toes.

Groaning, I flopped back down, my head hitting the pillow with a soft 'thump.' I'd never been the new student before. The last time I had started school without friends in my grade was in kindergarten back in Minnesota.

 _You know Scott and his fidgety friend, Stiles,_ a small voice in my brain nagged. _You would be meeting girls from the Bullets, but most of them go to Devenford Prep just outside of town._

As soon as I thought about the Bullets, some of the dread went away. But still, some lingered. I would have to prove myself later at practice. That team was cutthroat and the girls were like a family. True, I probably wasn't the only new girl, but I had earned myself a killer reputation on the ice, and those girls would be expecting me to bring it.

I tossed my legs over the side of the bed, cracked my knuckles, back, toes, and knees, and stood as slowly as possible. I had had several concussions over the course of my time in hockey and standing up just a little too fast could get me dizzy and seeing spots.

I quickly jumped into the shower, did my business, and dried off. I had already laid out clothes for the day. That was quite unlike me, actually. I wasn't the type of girl who was usually fashionably prepared. But I wanted to make a somewhat okay impression on the other idiots at Beacon Hills High School. After all, I was going to have to survive the next few years of high school with them, wasn't I?

I changed into my clothes and started packing up my hockey gear for practice after school.

As I was doing so, a short rapping came from the other side of my door.

"Enter as you must," I called jokingly.

There was silence for a moment.

"Uh…does that mean I can come in?"

It was Scott. I let out a big sigh.

"Yeah."

The door squeaked open. An apologetic-looking Scott stood in the doorframe.

"What's up?" I asked politely as I tied my skates to the side of my duffel bag. "Find any severed limbs last night?"

"Not exactly severed limbs, but I did find the other half of the body," Scott replied, a nervous edge to his voice.

I froze while checking the rubber guard on my skates. Nothing else moved in his direction but my eyes. A small, short breath snorted out my nose. I could barely get the next sentence out of my mouth.

"You found the other half of the body?" I echoed. "You, my cousin, Scott McCall, who could never find me in hide-and-seek, found the second part of a cut in half, murdered-by-cannibals body?"

Scott smiled crookedly. "Yeah. Kind of disgusting, actually."

I raised my eyebrows and continued tying the skates. "Really? Never would have guessed."

"Speaking of disgusting," he continued, "could – could you look at something for me?"

I stood, hoisting my duffle bag over my shoulder and reaching for my lucky hockey stick. "It depends on what I'm looking at. I tend to get squeamish sometimes if there's too much blood."

Scott shrugged, as if trying to act casual. His voice went up an octave. "Blood? No, not a lot of blood. It's just…not your typical cut, that's all."

"Where is it?"

"On my side."

"Did you slip and fall in the woods?"

"Kind of…?"

"What do you mean 'kind of?'"

"Um, you'll see."

I narrowed my eyes slightly as he moved his hoodie out of the way and lifted his shirt. I leaned over slightly and peeled away part of the sterile bandage already stained with a bit of blood.

I felt my heart stop as my eyes grazed over Scott's 'cut.' My mouth went dry. I had no idea what to say to my cousin.

"Is it that bad?" he questioned, voice tense.

My mouth opened and closed several times like a fish. Was he even aware about what had actually happened the night before?

Out of nowhere, a scene flashed through my mind. A big, shadowy shape with piercing crimson eyes staring me down. Then, a scream that sounded suspiciously like it could be Scott's echoed through my thoughts. It must have been part of my dream last night. It sent shivers down my spine. What could have given me such awful nightmares?

I finally managed to speak. "Scott…uh, this is a bite mark."

He sighed. "I know."

I carefully pasted the bandage back over the wound. "What the hell could have done this?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. A wolf?"

"There haven't been wolves in California for years," I replied, shaking my head in disbelief. "Maybe a rabid dog? You might want to get a rabies shot."

Suddenly, a ding sounded from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and read the screen. His demeanor immediately changed, like he was trying to overlook the abnormality of the bite.

"We can worry about it later," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "It's the first day of school – we should get going."

He backed out of the room and started down the stairs.

I scoffed, grabbing my backpack and closing my door behind me. "Scott, we can't just brush this off. That's not a typical bite mark. Not even close."

"You don't want to be late, do you? Come on, I'll give you a ride," he responded, avoiding my comments. He moved out of sight and out the front door.

I shifted my backpack, the duffel bag on my shoulder with skates tied around the handle, and the hockey stick in my hand before trudging down the stairs.

I glanced longingly at the kitchen, wishing I had gotten up earlier to make a healthy breakfast.

"I hope your car has enough trunk space for all my hockey crap," I called as I slammed the door behind me.

I glanced up to see Scott standing at the bottom of the front porch with an ancient, dingy, booger green bicycle.

My eyebrows raised up past my hairline. I pointed at the bike. "You're joking, right?"

Scott shook his head, a naïve expression on his face. "No, this is it."

I stomped down the steps. "This thing could barely hold you and your backpack, much less all my hockey gear, my backpack, plus me."

"This bike has never let me down, Maddie. Tomorrow, we'll have the car with the big trunk. We could even get Stiles to drive us in his jeep if we needed to," Scott reasoned. "It's just for today, I promise."

I crossed my arms. "If we can't get Aunt Mel's car, then _please_ have Stiles pick us up. He's irritating as all get out, but _please_ ask him today."

Scott held up his hands in defense, the helmet on his head wobbling. He seemed to do that a lot when we first go to truly know each other. "Deal."

Clumsily, I was able to mount the back of my cousin's bicycle and we took off towards Beacon Hills High School.

I almost fell off several times, but Scott did his best to keep us, as well as all my hockey stuff, on the bike. His lacrosse stick slapped me in the face several times during the journey there.

As soon as we entered the school parking lot, people began to stare. My eyes flickered to my hockey stick. Guess they didn't have a lot of female hockey players walking around Beacon Hills High School.

We came to a rolling stop at a bike rack directly across from the double front doors. My stomach did somersaults as the brakes squealed. I swung my leg off the bike, retrieving my balance once more.

I gazed up at the brick building, anxiety ever putting pressure on my chest. Scott unbuckled his helmet from his head. He glanced between me and the school.

"Maddie," he said gently, "you're going to be fine."

I smiled lightly. "Thanks."

A fancy, silver sports car pulled up next to us as we spoke. My eyes flickered to the person in the front seat – another well-groomed, teenage male douchebag. Oh, the joy.

I tried to ignore the guy's presence until he got out of his car. He swung the driver's side door out enough to step out with his backpack already on, purposely hitting Scott in the process.

The guy got up close to Scott's face as he slammed the car door. I stepped forward, and, although I was on the other side of the bike, got close enough to club the guy over the head with my hockey stick.

"Dude…watch the paint job," he scolded, a scowl gracing his features.

I retaliated, tone heavy with mockery. "Dude…watch the precious cargo."

The guy turned to me, fire in his eyes, but his friend called to him from across the way.

"Yo, Jackson, let's go, bro!"

Ah. Jackson. The ultimate f-boy name.

He strut away to his posse, shooting daggers into my face, as well as Scott's.

"Classy," I commented sarcastically once he was out of earshot.

"Tell me about it," grumbled Scott. He played with the straps on his backpack, then gestured for me to follow him. "Mom said I'm supposed to drop you by the front office before school starts. I've got to meet Stiles first, but we can all walk there together."

I shrugged. "Whoo boy, I get to spend the first few minutes at Beacon Hills High School sitting in the office. Yay."

"It's not that bad, Maddie."

"Oh yeah? You want to try being the new kid in a small town where everybody's known everybody since the first grade?"

"Oh. I didn't even think about that. But look at it this way – you've got me and Stiles."

I snorted. "Yeah, great."

Scott seemed genuinely offended. "Hey, I'm just trying to help."

Guilt washed over me and I clinked my hockey stick on the pavement once as we walked.

"Sorry," I apologized quietly. "Like I told you last night after dinner – I'm not very good at making friends."

Scott put a hand on my shoulder as we came to a halt. I didn't even bother to brush off his hand. He smiled sympathetically.

"Your nerves are just getting to you. You'll be okay," he encouraged, taking his hand off my shoulder. "I've never been the new kid before, but there are some really nice people here. And yeah, Stiles and I might not be the coolest sophomores in school, but –,"

"Scott, I don't care about how cool you and your best friend might be," I told him truthfully. "I've never been the most popular girl. I played hockey as a kid. _Hockey_. Think about that sport and how it must have translated to my everyday life, including school. I was competitive and violent when I was younger. You know better than anyone."

"That's an understatement," he chuckled, reminiscing on times when I beat him up.

I shook my head, laughing slightly. "The point is, I am nervous. I'm extremely nervous. I'm so nervous, I want to shove this skate's blade into my face so that you have to call an ambulance and I won't have to step foot in this new school. I'm sorry."

"Stiles is a nice guy. I am, too, I think. If you stick with us, you can avoid socializing with other people who are like Jackson," Scott replied.

"And you know how much I despise socializing," I grinned.

"Scott! Maddie!"

We turned to see Stiles jogging towards us. His grin was wide. "Last night was wild! Maddie, you should have come with."

"I heard," I nodded, "and I'm glad I didn't after seeing what happened to Scott."

Stiles nodded. "Speaking of which – okay, let's see this thing."

Scott set down his backpack, then lifted his t-shirt.

Stiles was completely fascinated with just the outside of the cloth bandage. "Ooh!"

"Yeah," said Scott. Stiles reached for the edge of it, causing Scott to flinch. "Whoa!"

He picked up his backpack and we began to walk towards the school. "It was too dark to see much, but I'm pretty sure it was a wolf."

"Scott, I told you, there are no wolves in California," I reiterated.

Stiles nodded frantically with me.

"I heard a wolf howling," my cousin fired back matter-of-factly.

"No, you didn't," Stiles shot him down. "California doesn't have wolves."

"Like I said," I agreed. "Not in years."

"Like sixty years," nodded Stiles, stopping in front of us as he walked backwards.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, really. There are no wolves in California!" Stiles repeated.

"Alright, well if you don't believe me about the wolf, then you're definitely not going to believe me when I tell you I found the body."

Stiles started flipping out beside me. I had to take a half-step back in order to avoid getting punched in the face by his excited flying fists.

"You – are you kidding me?" he asked playfully, voice low.

"He's not kidding," I told him, voice tight.

"I wish I was," Scott smirked. "I'm going to have nightmares for a month."

Stiles guffawed. "Oh, god, that is freaking awesome. I – I mean, this is seriously the best thing that's happened to this town since –,"

His eyes glazed over and his face went slack as his gaze focused on someone walking up. I turned my head to see a pretty, stylish, redheaded girl swaying by. She completely ignored the three of us as she passed. Stiles was obviously crushing on her – big time.

"– since the birth of Lydia Martin," he finished dreamily. "Hey, Lydia…you look…like you're going to ignore me."

"Dude, wipe the drool off your chin," I joked. Scott laughed.

Stiles whipped around and pointed an accusatory finger at Scott. "You're the cause of this, you know.

"Uh-huh," Scott responded, amused.

"Draggin' me down to your nerd depths. I'm a nerd by association. I've been scarlet nerded by you," Stiles complained. "Stay away from us, Maddie, or you'll earn your big, fat, crimson 'N' to sew on all your shirts so fast that at lunch, you won't even be allowed to take from the same spoon serving mashed potatoes to the first line of the lacrosse team."

The school bell's loud ring vibrated so deeply, it shook me to the bone. Realistically, was it that loud? No. Did it seem like it to me because of nerves? Absolutely.

"Alright, first day of sophomore year, take off," Stiles deadpanned.

"We've got to drop Maddie off at the front office," Scott told him.

"Yeah, late to Hobson's class. Sounds good to me," cheered Stiles. "Follow us, my lady."

I rolled my eyes. "You really want to say that to a girl holding a hockey stick?"

"Follow us, Maddie," Stiles corrected himself.

"Don't even try that crap with me, Stilinski," I warned.

"Dually noted."

* * *

"Lucky for you, there's another new sophomore, just like you."

The principal led me outside the school to wait for the secretary to give me my class schedule.

"Oh, great," I muttered sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," the principal said.

I shook my head and repeated the phrase with the sarcasm dropped.

He led me to a bench where a girl with long, dark hair was seated. She beamed kindly as we walked up. She was dressed fashionably, better than I ever would. Her eyes sparkled with genuine cheerfulness. Sure, I was usually somewhat upbeat, but not for the first day of school.

"Allison, this is Madison. This is her first time in a new school, so please, encourage each other. I believe you have your first class together," the principal introduced.

I waved lightly, then, he left us alone. Allison moved her bag so that I had a place to sit.

"Thanks," I said quietly.

"Do you prefer Madison, or is there a nickname I can call you?" she wondered.

"Maddie is fine," I replied. I mindlessly scratched at a dirt spot on the handle of my stick. How did that get there?

My hands shook terribly. I did my best to hide it, but Allison noticed.

"First time as a new student?"

I glanced over at her. She seemed compassionate enough. I nodded.

"Yeah."

"Where did you move from?"

"Minnesota."

"And you play hockey?"

I smiled back at her as she examined my gear. I threw in some sarcasm to test the waters.

"No, actually, I play soccer."

She laughed and continued with the joke. She gestured to my skates. "Fancy cleats you got there, Maddie."

"Only the best to fuel my passion," I chuckled.

A pleasant chiming sounded from the small phone in her hand. She waved it off.

"I'm so sorry. My mom keeps calling me. I should probably take this."

"It's okay," I said. "That sounds important."

She smiled again, then answered her phone. "Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it…" She picked up her bag and dug through it, as if looking for something. "Everything except a pen. Oh my god, I didn't actually forget a pen!"

"I've got one you can borrow," I offered.

Allison grinned over at me. "Thanks so much, Maddie. You're a lifesaver!" There was a pause. "Yeah, Maddie and I are both new. I'll tell her. Okay, okay, gotta go. Love you."

Just as the vice principal strode up, Allison pressed the 'end call' button and stuffed her phone back into her bag.

"My mom says hello and good luck, by the way," she told me quietly.

I smiled. "Tell her thanks for me the next time you see her."

"I will."

"Sorry to keep both of you waiting," he told us.

"It's fine," Allison replied, standing rapidly.

I gathered my duffel bag and stick, then stood more slowly. My backpack and duffel were heavy.

The vice principal, unsmiling, held out a small, folded piece of paper to me. "Your schedule, Ms. St. James."

With much difficultly, I snatched up the piece of paper and held it in the same hand I used to balance my duffel with. I didn't even bother to read it. I didn't have the talent to read, walk, and balance all my stuff at one time.

"This way, girls."

Allison and the VP began walking in line towards the building, while I trailed behind. I wasn't able to walk nearly as fast with all my stuff weighing me down. I grumbled as he began to engage Allison in pleasant, but forced, conversation.

"So you were saying San Francisco isn't where you grew up?"

"No," Allison said, "but we lived there for more than a year, which is unusual in my family."

"Well, hopefully, Beacon Hills will be your last stop for a while," the vice principal said.

He barely held the door open for me as we entered the school. Allison was kind enough to stop the door from running into my shoulder as I crossed through the entryway.

I was somewhat dumbfounded by how open this other girl was to being brand new. She wasn't exactly what I was expecting. Usually, I thought people who moved around a lot were more closed off and introverted. Why get close to people when you know you'll just leave them later? She completely shattered my view of what I thought about a person who was constantly moving around was like.

Thankfully, the vice principal at least held the classroom door open for me and my gear. Suddenly, the room went dead silent. All I could hear was my own heart, beating wildly against my rib cage. All eyes were on me and Allison, who didn't seem to mind one bit.

"Class," the VP announced, "these are your new students, Allison Argent and Madison St. James. Please do your best to make them feel welcome."

I glanced back to watch him leave the room, and, in the process of doing so, found myself alone up front with the teacher. Allison had already found a spot – behind my cousin, Scott McCall. He offered her a pen, which she accepted with a grin. Oops.

Stiles waved at me, and then to the empty desk behind him, which was near Scott and Allison.

I nodded and stepped forward to make my way back there, but the teacher stopped me.

"Well, Ms. St. James," he greeted, tone full of arrogance and mockery, "since you're so keen to stay up here with me, why don't you tell us about yourself?"

The class sniggered and Allison winced.

My mouth went dry again. "Um...well – I, uh, I play hockey."

"Really? I would never have guessed," ridiculed the teacher. "Anything else you wish to tell us?"

I felt my face grow hot as the class giggled some more. I grit my teeth and squared my shoulders, thinking back to Stiles' reaction to when I said which team I was playing for.

"I'm one of the new members of the Beacon Hills Bullets," I declared.

A hush fell over the other teenagers. Several seemed impressed while others nodded. A few girls even began to whisper fervently to each other.

A few of the butterflies in my stomach went away and I gave them all a half-smile.

"Good to know our team is in such…c _apable hands,"_ the teacher retorted smugly. "Now, please, sit down before I put a real bullet in my own head."

I swiftly walked my way down the far aisle of desks and plopped down right behind Stiles. He turned around and gave me a dorky thumbs up and a goofy smirk.

"Nice going," he complimented.

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "Thanks."

I leaned my hockey stick against the wall, using my duffel as a support. Then, I took out a notebook, a pencil, and my planner.

Scott and Allison both looked back at me and grinned. I shrugged back.

I slumped slightly in my seat as the teacher began to ramble. What a great start to a new school year.

* * *

The rest of the day was extremely boring. However, the stares I received because of my hockey gear turned me away from any more socialization for, what I wanted to be, forever.

I had Scott and Stiles in a few more of my classes, one being Chemistry, which was pretty much the seventh level of hell for me. Stiles and Scott, naturally, sat as lab partners. I was stuck with an ashy blond, curly-haired guy who didn't say a word. We were perfect together, as neither of us wanted to exchange any small talk. I was extremely grateful.

I wasn't even able to each lunch with Scott and Stiles. I was too busy in the office trying to change out of Algebra I into Geometry. Credit transfers were a royal pain in the ass.

After school, I hastily rushed back to my locker to grab my skates, which I had left there earlier in the day after someone complained that the blades 'made them nervous.' I merely scoffed and stored them away like the principal asked.

As I approached my locker, I saw Allison messing with her own lock combination.

"Hey," she greeted brightly. "How was the rest of your day?"

I shrugged as I began to open my locker. "It was meh."

She laughed. "Meh? That's the adjective you're going with?"

"You asked, I answered," I replied, amused.

I set down my hockey stick and adjusted my Minnesota Wild ball cap before taking out my skates and tying them back onto my duffel bag's strap.

When I looked up, I saw Allison smiling to someone across the hall. I followed the direction of her eyes to see Scott, grinning right back.

I raised my eyebrows and opened my mouth to say something when the redheaded girl Stiles had been ignored by earlier in the day, Lydia Martin, sauntered up and praised Allison's fashion choices.

"That jacket is absolutely killer," she admired. "Where'd you get it?"

"My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco," Allison explained.

I could tell she was slightly uncomfortable.

"And you are my new best friend," Lydia mused.

Then, to my complete and utter disgust, Jackson, the guy who had hit Scott with his car door that morning, came up behind Lydia and basically made out with her in the hallway.

Allison glanced at me with a strained smile. I shrugged right back. What the heck was going on at this high school?

Suddenly, Lydia was done kissing Jackson and was complimenting Allison again.

"And this bracelet is stunning!" she flattered. "I have one almost exactly like it, but it's from Tiffany's. My dad got it for me for my sweet sixteen."

"Yeah, it's nice," Jackson chimed in.

 _Wonderful,_ I thought dimly. _Douchebag has an airhead girlfriend who just happens to be the girl Stiles is head-over-heels for. Great choice, Stiles, great choice. And, of course, they're completely avoiding eye contact with me. Actually, I don't think their eyes have even flickered in my direction._

As the three of them discussed Allison's jewelry choices, I took the opportunity to glance around the hallway.

I looked back to see Scott, Stiles, and another girl standing by Scott's locker. Scott was still looking my way, so I threw my hands up slightly as an indication that I already severely disliked Jackson, and possibly Lydia.

Stiles pointed me out to the girl and I waved glumly. He shook his head in disbelief at me and gestured at Lydia, honey-brown eyes wide with confusion.

"Scarlet nerded," me mouthed at me while gesturing to himself and Scott.

I rolled my eyes. What a twitch.

"So," Lydia's voice caught me off guard, "this weekend, there's a party."

"A party?" Allison questioned incredulously.

"Yeah, Friday night," Jackson added. "You should come."

Allison glanced over at me for salvation. I nodded at her once.

"We actually have plans already on Friday night," I spoke up. "New girl bonding sleepover. It's already set up."

Lydia glowered at me with sharp green eyes. "We weren't asking you. Have you looked in a mirror today? It's like 90's grunge grew legs. What did you do to those nails? Dip them in bleach? And you think you're a professional hockey player, I see. You're probably one of those girls who thinks she's 'one of the guys.' Am I right?"

I frowned, then glanced down at my own outfit. It was a light wash jean jacket, a striped, black and white t-shirt, black jeans, white converse, and my dark green Minnesota Wild ball cap.

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously, cocking one eyebrow.

"She means we don't want living pieces of trash like you walking around at our party," Jackson clarified snidely. He draped an arm around Lydia's torso.

"Hey, wait a second –," Allison began, voice stressed.

My blood began to boil. I held up a hand, telling Allison that I could handle it myself.

"I wouldn't want to go to some high school party anyways," I said firmly. "College parties are where the action is going to be. I don't need to risk my spot on the _Beacon Hills Bullets_ for some D-list bash thrown by a couple of loaded, low IQ, Beverly Hills 90210 wannabes."

Jackson's grip around Lydia's waist tightened, while Lydia's jaw dropped dramatically.

Allison's face went blank, eyes huge with her jaw clenched.

I knew then that I had lost my only girl friend at Beacon Hills High School. I glanced over at a clock on the wall. It was 3:15. I had to be at the rink by 3:45 for an orientation before practice. The local bus system ran by the school on route to the rink, but at 3:20. I had to get out to the bus stop in front of the school.

"I'll see you later, Allison," I sighed, trying to hide my light gray-blue eyes under the brim of my hat.

I quickly trudged away; out of sight, out of mind.

That was not how I wanted the end of my first day of sophomore year to go.

* * *

The first day of Bullets conditioning was more challenging than any other conditioning I had ever gone through.

My new coach called me over after practice was over.

Her name was Coach Ellie. She was a smaller, shorter, stocky woman with a salt-and-pepper braid. Her face was forever in a scowl, but her overall demeanor was pleasant. She pushed us hard, but always constructively criticizing. She never screamed in our faces or picked on girls because they made a mistake. She was an excellent coach from what I had experienced so far. She also called us all by our last names. Everyone did the same, even the players.

"Hey, Coach," I greeted.

She smiled. "How did you like your first day, St. James?"

"I loved it," I told her truthfully.

"Harder than your last team's workouts?"

"For sure. But I love a challenge."

She chuckled. "I know you do. I saw your videos. I just wanted to let you know that the other co-captain position is still open to any girl who proves she's got the leadership skills out on the ice. I've got my eye on you, St. James. You've got major talent."

My lips stretched into an uncontrollable grin. "Really?"

"Absolutely!" Coach Ellie confirmed. "We'll do more on the ice tomorrow. Make sure to rest up and drink lots of water tonight and tomorrow, alright?"

"Will do, Coach," I nodded enthusiastically. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

I heaved my backpack onto my shoulders, then lifted my duffel and grabbed my hockey stick.

I couldn't stop smiling as I made my way out of the rink.

Several other girls from the team stood in a huddle just outside the front doors of the community center.

"Hey, St. James!" called the girl with short black hair.

I whipped around, surprised that she was even slightly interested to talk to me.

"Uh, hey," I replied, slowly stepping over to the group.

"I don't think we've introduced ourselves yet," said the same girl. "I'm Jett. This is Avery," she pointed to the tall girl with long, pin-straight, light brown hair, who put a hand up in greeting. "Webb," a girl with bright blue, bob-style hair waved brightly. "And Day." Finally, she gestured to a short girl with medium length, warm brown hair, whose smile was just as cheerful as the Pikachu t-shirt she was wearing.

"Hi. Nice to meet you all," I said.

"We were all a part of the team last year," Jett explained.

"We're super impressed with you so far," Avery commented.

"Yeah, you're seriously one of the best forwards we've ever seen," Webb chimed in.

"And you're a fan of the Minnesota Wild, which makes me happy!" Day laughed.

My smile only grew bigger. "Well, thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

"First day at Beacon Hills High School?" Jett guessed, flinching ever so slightly.

I sighed deeply and set down my duffel bag. I leaned lightly on my stick. "How'd you know?"

"Well, part of the reason is we didn't see you at Devenford today," Avery replied.

"And you've got those depressing 'public school' vibes emulating from your backpack," said Webb, empathy lacing her words.

I raised my eyebrows, agreeing. "You've got that right. My cousin and his best friends are cool and there's another new girl who's super sweet, but there are these two other idiotic messes that just make me – ugh, they're just…terrible people."

Day held up a hand. "Let me guess – Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin?"

I was taken aback by her knowledge of the two. "You know them?"

They all shook their heads.

"Our former team member, Turner, went to Beacon. She graduated this past Spring, but she was so annoyed with Jackson and Lydia. Jackson was just a year younger than her, but Lydia was a freshman. Those two are like great white sharks that decided to form an alliance." Webb rolled her eyes.

"Jackson is no brains all brawn and Lydia is no nothing, all lipstick and skirts," I chuckled darkly. "They've sure got an attitude problem."

"They come to the matches sometimes and criticize us all on our hairdos," Jett scoffed.

"We're wearing helmets," Avery chimed in. "What else do they expect from us?"

"A Gucci fashion show," I said sarcastically.

The girls giggled.

I knew then that I would definitely enjoy my time on the Beacon Hills Bullets.

* * *

 **Thank you so much to Guest and GorditaBossinova for reviewing! It's so nice to know that you are interested in Maddie and how she fits into the story. I think you guys are up for some pleasant (or not so pleasant) surprises this next chapter. Speaking of which, I will try to post a new chapter at least once a week, but I am a college student who has a VERY busy major, so I'm really sorry if it's a month or two between updates! I'm trying to bust out like three more chapters before I go back after spring break ends. But thank you guys so much for reviewing! It means a lot. :) Reviewing encourages me to keep writing! Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter of** Tear in My Heart, **and I will talk to you guys next time. See ya!**


	3. Disconnected (Pilot, pt 3)

Chapter 3: Disconnected (Pilot, pt. 3)

* * *

 _I feel like I just don't know you anymore_

 _But I've been burned and I've been down so many times_

 _We walk in circles,_

 _The blind leading the blind_

 _We've been disconnected somehow_

Disconnected – Keane

* * *

The next morning, Stiles drove Scott and I to school in his old, blue Jeep. I ended up sitting in the back seat in the middle. Scott, as Stiles had told me, always had first dibs at riding shotgun. I had merely shrugged, said whatever, and climbed all the way back.

"How were lacrosse tryouts yesterday? Aunt Mel never got a chance to tell me before she left for work and you two were hanging out," I wondered casually, leaning forward in my seat.

Scott and Stiles exchanged a wary look.

"Actually, they were great," Scott told me.

I frowned and asked skeptically, "Really? They were great?"

"Why wouldn't they be?" Scott said.

My eyebrows scrunched as I glanced over at my cousin. "Aunt Mel told me you were on the bench last year."

"It's all changing, Maddie," Stiles exclaimed. "My boy Scott is probably going to make first line."

The tone of his voice was enthusiastic, but it was a strained enthusiasm, as if he was faking it. I immediately knew something was up. Scott and Stiles were terrible liars. Something was up; something they wanted to keep hidden.

"Okay, you guys should be way more excited about Scott making first line. I think it's fantastic. In fact, that's awesome," I called them out. "What's going on?"

The two boys remained silent. Neither looked at each other, nor at me. I leaned forward even more, sticking my head between them. I glanced at them both with a questioning look.

"Is it Jackson?"

Nothing.

"Did something happen?"

Still nothing.

I turned to sarcasm, not knowing what else to say. "Everything is just peachy with you two, then, huh? Glad to hear that you're doing so well!" I narrowed my eyes at them. "Does this have something to do with the bite on Scott's side?"

Stiles immediately tensed at the wheel. Scott's eyes grew a little wider and stayed staring straight ahead.

I shook my head at them, pushing myself up so that I was practically in the front seat with them. "This is all about Scott's bite, isn't it? Is it not getting better or something?"

Stiles scoffed, his voice raising with each syllable. "What? You're off your rocker, Maddie. Scott is fine. Totally and completely fine. Right, buddy?"

"There is no one more completely fine than me," Scott agreed.

I crossed my arms as we drove into the Beacon Hills High School parking lot. My mouth formed a thin, straight line. I felt offended. Was it that awful that they couldn't even tell me?

"You two are lying your asses off," I scolded them. "Nothing but complete and utter BS is streaming out of your mouths right now and I don't like it."

"If you don't like it, then you can get out of the car," Stiles retorted sarcastically as he pulled into a parking spot.

I shook my head. "You're telling me what's going on right now."

"Oh, would you look at the time? It's school! Isn't knowledge just the most wonderful thing? Instead of this, let's go inside and have an academic conversation about the hellhole that is school and how someday, we'll be rid of people like Jackson and Lydia and I will be together forever." Stiles moved the conversation away from my griping.

I watched carefully as he took the keys out of the ignition. Then, I reached forward, snatched them out of his hand, and pressed the lock button several times in a row, trapping us all inside.

Both he and Scott started complaining.

"Are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me?! Those are mine!" shouted Stiles.

"Come on, Maddie! We don't have time for this," Scott grumbled.

I shoved the keys into my jean shorts pocket. "School can wait for just a few more minutes. Seriously, Scott, I want to know if something is happening to you. Are you dying? Turning into a unicorn or something? You're freaking me out."

The two best friends shared a look. Scott made this face as if he wanted to tell me something while Stiles' look was firm. He shook his head forcefully.

"Stiles, she's going to find out sometime. She's my cousin," Scott whispered.

"Not yet," hissed Stiles through clenched teeth.

I threw my hands up in the air. "I'm right here, you know!"

They both gave me a sympathetic look.

"Now's just not the right time," Scott told me softly. "I promise, we'll talk about it."

I put my head in my hands. To be very honest, it hurt that he didn't trust me. We were family. That fact that he didn't want to tell me something that was, obviously, of great importance and gravity was a little offending.

It was quiet for a while. The boys just stared at me, as if they were expecting me to explode. But I was not the type to start screaming when I was angry.

"Whatever," I told them grumpily, clicking 'unlock' on the keys. I gathered up my gear and climbed out of the car from behind Scott. "I'll see you guys later."

* * *

As I walked down the hall towards history class, I felt someone fall into stride with me. I glanced up from staring at my Adidas shoes to see a very happy Allison walking next to me.

"Hey, Maddie," she said cheerily.

I did my best to paste on a smile. "Hey."

"What's up?" she wondered.

I shrugged. I didn't want to dump my bad mood on her. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm great, actually," she replied. "I know I didn't get a chance to talk to you yesterday, but Lydia kind of…wouldn't let me out of her sight."

"I figured as much," I nodded. "She absolutely loves me, as you can tell."

Allison grimaced. "Listen, I am so sorry about what happened yesterday. I tried to talk to them afterwards, but Lydia's so stubborn and –,"

"It's okay, Allison. But thank you. I really appreciate you trying standing up for me," I said, genuinely smiling this time. "It's nice to know that at least someone here has my back."

"I think if you and Lydia started over, you two could really hit it off," she considered thoughtfully. "I don't know about Jackson. He's kind of…"

"A douchebag?" I finished for her, smiling a bit.

She laughed. "Yeah. I didn't want to say it because I'm friends with Lydia, but yeah." Her face lit up. "Oh! By the way, I at least convinced them to let you come to their party tonight."

I tugged on the string of my gray, pullover hoodie. "That's so nice of you, Allison, really. But I'm not really the party type. Not to mention, it's a Thursday night."

We stopped outside of my classroom.

Allison shot me a hopeful glance. "Well, I hope to see you there. If you're up for it, you can always get a ride with me and Scott."

I was taken aback. I blinked several times in a row, opening my mouth, then closing it.

"You and…Scott?" I managed to reply. "My dorky cousin?"

"Yeah," Allison confirmed. "We're going to the party together. He didn't tell you?"

I sighed and scowled. "No. No, he didn't tell me anything, as usual."

"Is everything okay between you two?" Allison asked, concerned.

I plastered on a small smile. "We're fine. Just got disconnected, I guess. Miscommunication is our specialty lately."

Allison grinned, relieved. "Good, I'm glad. Not about the miscommunication, but that you guys are good. You both are just the best. I'll see you later!"

I sighed as she made her way towards her own class.

"And by 'our specialty' I mean 'his,'" I muttered as I entered history.

* * *

I ate lunch alone again. It was fine, really. I took the chance to get my Geometry homework done so that I didn't have to do it over the weekend.

Stiles and Scott passed by, but I didn't look up. I was still upset with them. Stiles had made fun of my healthy avocado toast with tomatoes, pita chips, and garlic hummus lunch as he walked by with Scott.

Allison waved and smiled apologetically as she sat down at a table with Lydia, Jackson, and their whole crew. She had barely talked to me since earlier that morning and Lydia and Jackson sent snide looks my way whenever the opportunity presented itself.

I sat alone at the bus stop, too.

An older guy stood nearby. He was tall, broad, and scruffy, probably college age or a bit older. His dark blue eyes watched everything very meticulously. I even caught him looking at me a few times. He wasn't ashamed, though. He just kept staring, even when my eyes met his.

When the bus arrived, I lugged my hockey stuff on board and swiped my pass over the sensor. The bus driver was already beginning to recognize me. He was an older man with a bushy gray beard. He almost looked like Santa Claus off duty. He grinned and I smiled back politely.

I put the card in my shorts pocket, picked up my gear, and shuffled to the very back of the vehicle. I placed my stuff on the seat on the right side next to the window, then sat down directly next to it. There were still three seats left next to me.

The scruffy, dark haired guy got on behind me. He paid his fare with a dazzling smile, then made a beeline for the back – towards me.

He sat down a seat away from me on the left. The bus was practically empty, except the elderly woman who always sat up front crocheting.

I side-eyed the guy and scooted closer to my hockey stick. I was very aware of creepers.

The bus lurched forwards, causing me to hold on to the puke-yellow bar in front of my seat.

As we pulled away from the bus stop, the guy turned to me.

"I'm friends with your cousin, Scott," he told me, his face completely straight.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "Um…I'm happy for you…?"

"He's been talking about his cousin coming into town," he explained. "He pointed you out to me the other day. I'm Derek, Derek Hale."

He flashed that dazzling smile again, but I kept my face straight. Something about this Derek Hale character seemed off to me.

"How do you know Scott?" I inquired.

"I was his high school pen pal when he was in elementary school," Derek replied. "It's a program we do here in Beacon Hills."

I frowned. "Just how old are you?"

Derek looked slightly taken aback. "Uh, twenty-five." His eyes narrowed at me. "How old are _you?"_

"Sixteen," I said, an obvious tone to my voice. "I'm a sophomore."

"And Scott's not turning sixteen until October 6," Derek recalled.

I nodded. This guy obviously knew Scott at least a little bit.

There was an awkward silence. I stared down at my shoes and brushed my hair behind my ears.

"Has Scott been acting…different lately?" he asked, breaking the silence.

My head snapped in his direction. He was absolutely right. Scott had been acting strange. He hadn't used his inhaler in a few days now, and when we were kids, he was constantly puffing on that thing just to keep breathing. Was it normal for him to spend that much time with Stiles? Probably. But for them to be so freaked out over simple questions like, 'what's up' was definitely not normal. Normal people would respond with something like 'I'm fine,' even if they weren't. Scott couldn't even do that, especially when it came to asking about that animal bite he got in the woods.

I decided to take a subtle approach with Derek. I didn't trust him – I didn't trust very many people then anyways – so I said something sort of vague.

"He hasn't been using his inhaler lately, if that's what you mean."

Derek's eyebrows raised. "Really? He hasn't been using his inhaler?"

I rolled my eyes. This guy really liked to repeat stuff.

"No, he's been using meth instead," I responded sarcastically.

Derek's eyebrows shot up even further. He ignored my wit. "Anything else different?"

I crossed my arms. "What have _you_ noticed?"

"I saw him playing lacrosse yesterday and he seemed strong," he relayed.

"Strong?" I said skeptically. "Scott can barely lift 220. He told me that a few days ago."

"He was knocking over the other players like they were dominoes," he told me bluntly. "He was lying if he said he could only bench 220."

I my frown deepened. Why would Scott lie about his strength? Maybe he was acting a lot different than usual. Then again, I hadn't exactly been in around him for an extended period of time for a long while, at least, not since we were kids.

"Scott's not usually one to lie," I thought out loud. "He's a terrible fibber, actually."

Derek scowled. "It doesn't matter whether he's a good liar or not. He's obviously hiding something."

"I know," I agreed.

"So what are you going to do about it?" he prompted.

I scowled. "Well, duh, I'm going to find out sooner or later. I do live with the moron."

"What about you?"

The question threw me in for a loop.

"What…what the hell are you talking about?" I demanded.

Derek shrugged. "Scott said you'd been acting weird, too. Are you hiding something?"

I scoffed. "Yeah, sure, _I'm_ the one acting weird. He's the one who got bit by that thing in the woods!"

"He told me about that," the older guy nodded. "But he also said you were saying things in your sleep."

I was caught off guard again. Saying things in my sleep? Yeah right. I was a deep sleeper. I knew that I snored sometimes, but sleep-talking was never on my radar. My parents would have reprimanded me about that when I was a kid if that was even remotely true.

"Like what?" I challenged, annoyed.

Suddenly, the bus screeched to a stop, its brakes shrieking as we pulled up in front of the community center.

"This is your stop," Derek replied shortly, still expressionless.

I shot him a puzzled look, then grabbed my gear. I didn't even bother saying goodbye. Derek did, though.

"See you around, Maddie," he said as I stepped off onto the pavement.

I watched as the bus drove away.

 _I never told him my name,_ I realized as his face disappeared with the bus around the corner of the block. _Scott might have told him, but…that's just plain disturbing._

I shook off the strange interaction and headed to the rink. I had to focus – I had a co-captain position to fight for.

* * *

"Let's go, St. James! Come on!"

"Finish it! Finish it now!"

"You got this, girl! YOU GOT THIS!"

"Full speed ahead, St. James!"

I barreled ahead towards the goal, the puck in my possession. I faked out a defender, gliding past her and smirking. I looked for an open space in the goal. Taking a deep breath, I shot the puck. It flew to the goal, the keeper missing it completely as she dove to the wrong side. My teammates hollered and cheered as I laughed in triumph.

Coach Ellie called the whistle, ending our first scrimmage.

The girls from my side skated out onto the ice to congratulate me on a well-shot goal and to celebrate our victory together.

The other team clapped politely, but their clapping was muffled through their gloves.

Coach gestured for us to circle up around her. Avery and Webb, who were both on my side in the scrimmage, stood on either side of me. Jett and Day, although on the other team, still looked pleased with the ending results.

We all took off our helmets and held them under one of our arms. The top of my two braids were damp with sweat.

My stomach suddenly flipped upside down. Coach was about to announce who had made first line.

Even if a girl didn't make first line, that didn't mean she'd be on the bench all year. First line was merely Coach's best lineup. It wasn't that she was devaluing the team, but simply putting together the girls who worked best together. According to what Webb had told me the day before, first line usually was a combination of the best players on the team.

"Girls, I just want to tell you how proud I am to call myself your coach," she began warmly. "These past few days have been grueling, I know, but I hope you've all enjoyed yourselves so far. I choose my players carefully, and I have chosen a fantastic squad this year. I think we have a definite chance to place in this year's championships!"

We all whooped.

"Now, for the matters of first line – I give this spiel every single year and, even afterwards, I have at least one person who is not happy with their placement. I make a first line because these are the girls who use their talents and work the best together. We start off with six on the ice, but I name eight just so that we get a good cycle of starting lineups against other teams based on our own strengths and weaknesses, as well as the other team's. Let me be very clear – I am not pushing other girls away because they're not good enough. I've observed that these girls work best together. Trust me, I still value each and every one of you. You will never be benched if you're not first line. Every single one of you will play a lot more than just once or twice. There's a reason this team is smaller – and that's because you all are so, so talented. I chose you for a reason. Now, let's get on with this, shall we?" Coach announced. "Let's try not to freak out altogether until the end of the list."

My breath caught in my throat as she began to call out names.

"Brown."

The keeper from my team in the scrimmage, a girl with frizzy red hair, beamed in relief.

"Cameron."

A defenceman from the other scrimmage team, a girl with shoulder-length, golden hair pumped her fist into the air.

"Avery."

Webb and I each patted our friend on the back. She put a gloved hand to her mouth in surprise, her face pink and blotchy.

"Michaelson."

A defenceman from my own side, a girl with cool, brown hair gasped.

"Webb."

Avery and I shook her shoulder as she smirked back at us.

There were only three people left to announce and she still hadn't called my name yet. My hands grew even more sweaty than they were before. I took a few more deep breaths.

 _Still three names left to call,_ I thought, trying to calm myself down.

"Day."

From across the circle, Webb, Avery, and I gave her an excited look. She grinned widely as Jett gave her a one-armed hug.

Jett and I exchanged worried looks. We both wanted to be on first line pretty badly.

"Jett."

Day wrapped her own arm around the taller Jett, who did a fist pump into the air.

My heart crashed and thumped wildly. The last name…

"And our new co-captain, St. James."

Both Avery and Webb grabbed one of my shoulders and shook. I beamed, an amazed, excited yell rising in my throat.

"You can all freak now," Coach told us, amused, stepping back.

Before she had even finished her sentence, the team exploded. It was like sound bomb going off inside the rink.

Day and Jett skated their way over to me, Avery, and Webb, and we all screamed together. We congratulated each other on making first line, talking about how each other did during the scrimmage.

I glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was 7:03.

"Shoot," I muttered. I turned to my friends. "Sorry, guys, but I've got to jam. Aunt Mel will be here to pick me up in ten minutes."

All of them bid their goodbyes, telling me how eager they were for the next day's practice.

I took off my skates, hurried to the locker room, and changed back into my school clothes – the gray pullover hoodie, jean shorts, and striped, black and white Adidas sneakers.

I waved to the rest of the girls, who were just coming off the ice as I exited the locker room. I made my way down the outside of the rink and spotted Coach Ellie sitting in the front row of the bleachers. I stopped and thanked her.

"Thank you so much, Coach," I gushed. "This means a lot to me."

"You deserve it, St. James," she told me, smiling. "Might have to start calling you Saint with how much you bring to the team."

I giggled (very, very unlike me) and thanked her again, then rushed out to the parking lot.

Aunt Mel was already sitting there in her car.

I hauled my gear, as well as my backpack, over and stuck it in the trunk, then climbed into the passenger seat. I didn't even have time to apologize for being a few minutes late before the good news tumbled from my lips.

"I made first line and I'm the new co-captain!"

Aunt Mel immediately reached over and hugged me, shrieking once or twice in the process. I was so happy, I didn't even feel the urge to push her off as I usually did with physical contact.

"No you didn't!" she wigged out. "This is wonderful! Scott made first line, too!"

My eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. "What?"

She nodded, eyes welling up with tears. "Both my kiddos made first line on their teams! Can I hear 'Chinese takeout dinner with whatever Maddie wants to order?' I think so!"

I laughed. "Thanks, Aunt Mel."

We pulled out of the community center parking lot and started driving towards the best Chinese takeout place in town.

"Hey, with how hard you've worked over the years, you've earned it," she told me firmly. "Honestly, Maddie, I can't believe this – I mean, I can, but – this is incredible! Just wait until we tell Scott. He'll be thrilled!"

My mood was instantly killed. My smile faded. Aunt Mel's did, too, when she saw my facial expression.

"What's wrong?"

I stared down at my chipped nail polish. I was quiet for a moment. "Scott and I – we kind of…we kind of got into a fight this morning."

"What did he do?" she asked, sighing.

I stared out the window as I answered. Aunt Mel was excellent at reading my looks. I didn't want to tell her about the bite on her son's side and how it may be giving him an advantage on the lacrosse field for some reason that he won't even clue me in on. If Scott was hiding something from me, he was also, with no doubt, hiding it from his mother.

"He's just…I don't know, he's not…he's not acting like himself," I relayed slowly.

"Has he not been welcoming at school?"

"No, he's been fine, I just…I guess I just feel like I don't belong there."

Aunt Mel's face fell. "You don't? Why not?"

I sighed. "I've kind of been getting picked on."

She scoffed. "By who? Who the heck would have the nerve to pick on a female hockey player?"

"Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin," I said hesitantly.

She rolled her eyes. "I've heard of them. They're both the children of some of the richest people in Beacon Hills. They're spoiled brats, Maddie. They're selfish, arrogant, airheaded kids who have no idea what it's like to live in the real world. You do. Just wait and see – you'll go on to play professional hockey and they'll be stuck here living with their parents until they're forty. Trust me, they're not going anywhere in life."

I glanced over at my aunt, who looked severely pissed off. I smiled.

"Thanks, Aunt Mel. You always know the right thing to say."

"I am a nurse, you know," she said jokingly. "It's my job to help people – even with psychological stuff. Just ask Scott."

We parked at the Chinese place and she turned to me. "So – what kind of chicken do you want?"

* * *

After a celebratory dinner of my favorite Chinese takeout (sesame chicken, sweet and sour pork, chow mein, crab rangoons, and potstickers), Scott headed upstairs to get ready for the party.

Scott and I barely talked to each other throughout the meal. Aunt Mel and I would discuss something, then she would discuss something else with Scott.

I told him 'good job' on making first line on the school lacrosse team, and he told me 'good job' for my own athletic feats. That was pretty much it. Talk about depth of conversation. I was just undeniably thrilled – not.

"I am going to go entrust my son with the keys to the car," Aunt Mel proclaimed as she passed by the couch where I was reading a history of Queen Elizabeth I's rise to power. "Then, you and I can watch a movie."

I nodded. "Okay."

"What kind of movie is your favorite?"

I chuckled darkly. "I have no idea."

Aunt Mel's face went blank and she deadpanned, "You have no idea what your favorite kind of movie is?"

I shook my head slowly. "I wasn't allowed to watch movies a lot as a kid."

"Wow," she awed. "Have you seen… _any_ movies?"

"I've seen Star Wars," I replied. Then there was a long silence. "That's it."

Her jaw dropped, eyes wide. "That's _it?_ You've seen nothing else but _Star Wars?_ Your parents let you watch no other movies but Star Wars?"

"I actually snuck into a movie theater once and watched all three in a row," I told her. "I was twelve. My coach had canceled hockey practice and my parents weren't going to pick me up until the end of the day. So, I snuck into an old theater and they started playing Star Wars on one of the screens. It just happened to be the one I was sitting in."

Aunt Mel just shook her head. "Oh my lord, you poor child."

"Hey, I liked them," I defended. "It was a nice change from the nature documentaries that I was allowed to watch at home."

Aunt Mel pointed an accusatory finger at me. "Where you lived was not a home. It was a high-security prison."

"Oh, yeah, I was free to do anything I wanted," I replied sarcastically.

"Well, let's start off some classic Disney. We'll do _Cinderella_ first. It's a must-see, I promise you, especially if you're going to survive in a culture where most teenage conversations consist of Disney movie references," she said. "But first, let me get these keys to Scott."

"I've read the story of Cinderella," I supplied, trying to be helpful.

Aunt Mel scoffed as she climbed the stairs two steps at a time.

"It's not the same, Maddie!" she called over her shoulder.

"If it's anything like the Brothers Grimm story, then it will be an interesting movie!" I called back.

I pondered the thought of seeing the animated stepsisters in Cinderella chopping off parts of their own feet to fit into the glass slipper and felt my stomach turn.

 _Ugh,_ I thought, sick. _Even animated, blood might still make me puke my guts out._

"You bet your ass I am serious!"

I sniggered into the pages of the book. Aunt Mel was awesome.

She yelled at Scott some more, making me laugh even harder. "I'm not gonna end up on some reality television show with a pregnant sixteen-year-old. Come on!"

"Mom, please! I didn't mean it."

"Oh, you did so mean it! You are a teenage boy with raging hormones and probably have no control over that –,"

"I have control!"

"You better. Now seriously – you aren't even sixteen yet. You don't need to even be _thinking_ about doing any of that with this Allison. Keep the tank as full as possible, okay? Just please return it in one piece, that's all I ask."

"I will, mom. Thanks."

"I'll leave so you can dress."

"Thank you."

I heard a door slam, then stomps down the hallway and the staircase.

"Did you hear that?"

My head whipped up from my book. Aunt Mel stood at the bottom of the steps, thumb pointed in the direction of Scott's room upstairs.

"Not a word," I replied sarcastically.

"I swear, he's going to give me an aneurysm…" She threw her hands up in the air and strode into the kitchen. "Okay – snack options for this marathon – popcorn, pizza, candy? What's your favorite, Maddie?"

I shut my book with a snap, shrugging. "How about a vegetable platter?"

There was a pause, then Aunt Mel's voiced echoed from the kitchen. "Was that sarcasm?"

I stood and went into where she was standing, seeing into the void that was the pantry.

"Actually, that was me being serious," I winced.

She flinched. "You'd rather eat cauliflower than buttered popcorn?"

"Well, with all the training I have to do for hockey, I've always grown up eating healthier stuff. It's not that I think popcorn and pizza are bad, but I did just have a lot of fried food for dinner," I explained.

Aunt Mel laughed and shook her head. "A little more junk food won't kill you. You eat so well all the time. You deserve a treat, even if it's not a Friday."

She peered into the freezer. "How do you feel about ice cream sandwiches?"

"I love ice cream sandwiches," I responded, grinning. "Especially the chocolate chip cookie ones."

My aunt pulled out an entire box of chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches, smirking mischievously. "If you put in the movie, I'll make some popcorn and we can start munching on these."

A figure appeared next to me, passing by. It was Scott, all ready for his big date with Allison. He was dressed a little better than usual, but not by much. I thought he looked nice. It was just a high school party, after all.

"There's my handsome kid," Aunt Mel said sweetly. "I wonder where you get that from?"

"Hey, now you're starting to sound like Maddie," joked Scott, waving a hand at me as his mother straightened his jacket.

I put up my hands in defense. "Sarcasm runs deep through my veins, Scott."

"Yeah, both you and Stiles," Aunt Mel replied, eyebrows raised.

"I'll see you later," Scott told his mom, kissing her temple goodbye.

We barely made eye contact as he left the kitchen.

"See ya," he said dimly.

"Bye," I replied, face straight.

Aunt Melissa's eyes flickered between me and her son. She was disappointed that we weren't getting along better. But, like I told Scott before, I wasn't very good at making friends – or keeping them it seemed. None of my friends back home had even attempted to make contact with me since I had arrived in Beacon Hills. Was there something wrong with me?

Her face instantly lit up as soon as the front door clicked shut.

"The movie should be in the closet under the stairs in one of those stand up cases," she told me brightly. "I'll make the popcorn."

"Alright," I told her.

I walked to the closet under the stairs, making Harry Potter jokes in my mind.

As I turned the squeaky door handle, the home phone rang. I heard Aunt Mel answer.

I ignored her initial greeting as I flipped on the light. My eyes scanned the two cases full of DVDs until I saw the spine of the case. In elegant font was the world _Cinderella._

I slid it from its spot on the shelf, spun on my heel, and turned off the light. Just as I shut the door to the closet, Aunt Mel's voice grew louder.

"Are you kidding me? That's terrible…yeah, I guess I could come in…I don't have my car, though. Really? Thank you so much, Jen, I really appreciate it. Okay, I'll be ready as soon as you get here. Okay, bye."

My heart instantly sank. I trudged back into the kitchen.

"You just got called into work, didn't you?" I questioned solemnly.

Aunt Mel's expression was one of great disappointment. "I am so sorry, Maddie. There was an accident just off the interstate. Some idiotic, drunk trucker flipped his semi and caused a major pileup. They need everyone they can to come into the hospital to help."

She rushed past me and jogged up the stairs.

I sighed. At least she was actually trying to spend time with me. Mom and dad never did that. I forced them to when I was a kid, but once I reached thirteen, I stopped trying. They didn't care, and I didn't anymore, either.

I watched the popcorn and took it out when it was done. Just as I was pouring it into a bowl, a car honked from just outside the house.

Aunt Mel sprinted down the stairs, grabbing her purse on the way out. She started searching for her keys.

"I really am, sorry, Maddie," she apologized profusely. "Go ahead and watch the movie if you want to. We've got a buttload more down there that you haven't seen. Eat all the popcorn, go to town on those ice cream sandwiches! I don't know when I'll be home. Have a good night, okay? I'll see you when I see you!"

"Bye, Aunt Mel," I hollered after her.

The door banged shut and I was alone. It was nothing I wasn't used to. In fact, it was almost comforting. I hadn't had a house to myself in about a week, which was strange for me.

So I did what my aunt told me – I sat down with the bowl of popcorn, a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich, and watched a movie. But I didn't want to watch Cinderella without Aunt Mel, so I found Star Wars in the movie case and watched that instead.

Around ten thirty that night, right in the middle of _The Empire Strikes Back,_ my cell phone jingled. I read the name – Allison.

 _What did Scott do now?_ I thought, puzzled.

"Uh, hey," I answered confusedly. "What's going on?"

Allison's out of breath voice sounded through the phone. "Scott just took off!"

I paused the movie, sitting up straight on the couch. "What?"

"He started freaking out, like was going to faint and just…left me here! He even took the car."

"He got sick?"

"That's what Stiles told me."

I scoffed. "Stiles Stilinski told you Scott was feeling sick?"

"Yeah, why?"

The whole thing reeked of what I had suspected earlier – there was something much bigger going on with Scott; and Stiles was, of course, covering for him. But I couldn't have told Allison that. What would she do if she found out the guy she obviously had a thing for told her that he was out in the forest looking for half a corpse the night of the murder and apparently got bitten by something that was possibly giving him weird side effects? And that his best friends knows exactly what's going on but won't let him tell anybody? No, I don't think so.

"Just making sure it was Stiles and not somebody else," I fibbed quickly.

"Maddie, there's no one else here named Stiles," Allison replied, a suspicious tone in her voice.

"I'm from Minnesota," I made up an excuse. "I don't know if Stiles is a popular name here in California. I barely know anybody at school as it is."

"And now Stiles is following Scott in his Jeep," Allison updated me. "I can't even get a ride from his best friend."

Suddenly, the door to the house slammed open, shaking the walls.

"Stay right there," I ordered her, standing and sliding on my shoes. "I'm stealing back the car from Scott and I'm coming to pick you up. What's the address?"

"1514 Cherry Lane," she replied, relieved sounding. "Seriously, I owe you one."

"It's fine, really. I'll see you in a minute," I told her. I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket. I went to inspect who had just stumbled into the house.

Scott had tripped and was sprawled out on the foyer floor. He writhed, as if in pain. He grunted as he tried to get back on his feet. He was definitely not feeling good.

"What are you doing?" I asked in shock. "Get up! Don't get sick in here! Go to the bathroom!"

I hurried over to help him to his feet when a growl rose deep in his throat.

I took a step back.

"Dude," I exclaimed. "What's wrong with you? Does this have anything to do with that bite on your side?"

He slowly stood, yelling, "Get away from me!"

He heaved and panicked, throwing down the car keys at my feet as he passed. He thundered up the stairs, strange noises coming out of his mouth.

I turned to follow him, but pounding footsteps sounded from behind me. Stiles ran up through the open door and stood in front of me, arms out to stop me from moving.

"Wait a second, wait! Don't go up there!" he cried.

"This has something to do with that bite, doesn't it?" I demanded.

"Don't worry about it!" Stiles waved me off.

"Don't worry about it? No, I'm going to worry about it! You _have_ to tell me what's going on, Stiles. You can't put it off forever!"

"Yes I can!" he argued, running up the stairs.

"I'll figure it out!" I promised. "Just watch me!"

I swiped the keys from off the floor and stormed out to the car, banging the door on my way out.

I quickly typed the address into the GPS in the car and sped off towards the party.

As soon as I arrived, I could feel the bass pounding through the car.

I parked on the street, not thinking before I dashed straight into the party. I immediately scanned the crowd of drunk teens for my friend.

It wasn't until I got out onto the patio that I realized I was getting some lingering stares and weird looks. I immediately felt self-conscious. Why were people looking at me like that?

I glanced down at my outfit. It was the same one I had worn to school. Then, I saw what everyone else was wearing – blazers, dress shirts, ties, and dresses. I was horribly underdressed. Horribly.

Apparently, I was dressed so terribly, when I was by the punch bowl and drinks, still looking for Allison, someone decided to tell me that I was.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Jackson, back to the drinks table.

I felt my face grow warm. I had probably turned the color of Pepto-Bismol. My mouth went dry.

"I'm here to pick up Allison," I told him confidently; much more confidently than I was feeling.

"She already left, idiot," a voice to my right said obviously.

It was Lydia.

 _Oh,_ I thought awkwardly. _I forgot that this is Lydia's party._

She rounded the table to stand next to her douchebag boyfriend.

"Wait, she already left?" I questioned blankly. "She called me just a few minutes ago."

"Another guy took her home, one much better looking than that cousin of yours," she replied, turning her nose up at me. "I can see where he gets his… _interesting_ looks from." She smirked while giving me a once-over.

I rolled my eyes. Why was this torture necessary?

"Well, thanks anyways," I told them dimly.

I turned to leave, but Jackson put a hand out in front of me. I grumbled.

"What now?"

"You should stay," he glowered, smiling in an unsettling manner. "I've got a friend who's been looking for another guy to dance with."

I ignored his dig about me looking like a boy. He began to walk forward towards me. Because of my extreme dislike of physical interactions, I began to walk backwards, away from him.

"That sounds amazing," I replied sarcastically, crossing my arms. "I just love dancing with complete strangers."

"You should really leave that sass in that dinky piece of scrap you call a car," Jackson scolded, voice growing louder as the music started to crescendo. "It's not attractive to drive that thing around town, you know."

"I don't give two craps about being attractive," I shot back, feeling my voice begin to shake a little. "I'm not here in Beacon Hills to get a boyfriend. I came here to play hockey."

"How about swimming?"

Jackson's grin was becoming more like the Cheshire Cat's with each passing second. I frowned, completely and utterly baffled.

Before I even had the chance to fire back with some sarcastic insult, his hands reached out and shoved my shoulders.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as I fell back into the crystal blue pool. Jackson laughed as I tumbled, Lydia standing next to him. Her face was almost amused, but there was a small amount of uncertainty behind her eyes that almost made me feel bad for her. But then I hit the water and my eyes burned from the chlorine. I didn't feel so bad for her after that.

The water filled my mouth and nose, and I surfaced, coughing and sputtering. I could barely keep my head above the water. If there was any sport I was not great at, it was swimming. I was a weak floater and my freestyle was nothing to be proud of. With my clothes and shoes weighing me down, it was even worse trying to breathe.

Every sound was muffled as I struggled to the edge of the pool. When I did reach the edge, I finally felt water sloshing around in my ears. I shook my head, water draining out of each ear. Then the sounds hit me. Laughing.

Jackson and his friends were laughing so hard, they were practically crying. Jackson himself was almost rolling around on the ground.

I hung my head as I gripped the rough edge of the pool. I shuddered in shock and embarrassment. My cheeks were most likely flaming, fiery red, as well as my ears. I could feel the head against my wet hair.

I easily boosted myself up out and out of the pool, my soaked clothes weighing me down. I sat on the edge, shoes squishing as I pulled my knees to my chest.

More people had stopped to stare at the debacle. Some laughed with Jackson and his friends, but others seemed concerned. I wasn't sure exactly what else to do and I was still out of breath, so I just sat there for a moment, angry.

"Want another refreshing swim, St. James?" one of Jackson's friends hollered at me.

I shook my head as the group chuckled stupidly. I had to get out of there.

I avoided the other's strange looks and girly shrieks as I dripped my way through the Martin mansion.

As I sploshed my way back to the car, I put my hands in my drenched shorts pocket.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" I griped, pulling out my fried phone. It was frozen on the title screen, a text from Allison smack dab in the middle. I read it, filled with rage and regret.

'Got a ride with Scott's friend Derek! Sorry about all that! Let me know if Scott's feeling better. Thanks so much, Maddie! :)' it read.

I pressed the home button, then the screen glitched out, colors and lines going everywhere. Suddenly, it went black. My phone was ruined; probably filled to the brim with Lydia's perfect, sparkling pool water. Great. Just dandy.

I took the keys out of my other pocket. Thankfully, they were just keys and the car was old enough where I didn't push a button to unlock all the doors – I actually had to unlock all the doors.

I got in and slumped back in the driver's seat. Every emotion tore through me all at once – shame, humiliation, anger, and total and complete loathing.

Jackson and Lydia, for some reason, hated my guts. Stiles didn't think I was trustworthy enough to know what was happening with my own cousin, and Scott, my actual cousin, felt the same. How could my own family not think I could be trusted? They knew I knew about danger. I played hockey. What could be more dangerous of a sport? What, did they think I was emotionally unable to handle whatever the freaking hell was going on in their precious, teenage boy, lacrosse world? And then school – practically nobody cared to talk to me. When somebody did, I just seemed to scare them off. What was wrong with me? Was I that awful of a person?

Everything broke me. It sent me over the edge.

A wave of tears washed over me and came spilling out with no warning.

I sat crying in the car for at least ten minutes before I even put the keys in the ignition.

And when I did start the car, the radio blasted. The lyrics were honest and true. Each word felt like a knife stabbing away at my heart. It hurt.

As I drove away from the most embarrassing moment of my life, they played like exit music in a cheesy television show.

 _"…I see the landscape change before my eyes. The features I've been navigating by, no nothing looks the way it did before. I don't know where to look or what to look for. Ooh, I feel like I just don't know you anymore. But I've been burned and I've been down so many times. We walk in circles the blind leading the blind. We've been disconnected somehow…"_

And I knew that nothing would ever be the same from that point on. At least, until Scott would reveal his big secret.

* * *

 **Thank you so much to 19irene96, GorditaBossinova, Ttcorbo21, Em-x. everlasting, and purplepumpkineater for following and to 19irene96, Em-x. everlasting, and Ttcorbo21 for favoriting! You guys are so awesome! Seriously, it makes me so happy that you guys enjoy the story. :)**

 **As you can tell, I'm taking a very different approach to some characters in the show compared to your average teen wolf fanfic. I'm really trying to write something fresh and new, something that not many people who read Stiles/OC fanfics see a lot of. I hope I'm succeeding so far!**

 **Just as a heads up, I probably will not be updating for quite some time, as I am starting up spring quarter at college and I get significantly busy with all the work that comes with it. I'll do my best to write when I can, but please, if you could, be patient with me. I'll do my best to update more!**


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